


A No Good, Very Bad Idea

by gehirnstuerm, LacrimaDraconis



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: M/M, Road Trip, post 1x17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gehirnstuerm/pseuds/gehirnstuerm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LacrimaDraconis/pseuds/LacrimaDraconis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alaric must have lost his mind. Why else would he team up with Damon Salvatore - again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A No Good, Very Bad Idea

**Author's Note:**

> This totally happened after 1x17 and you know it. Originally written and posted on LJ in May 2010!

Alaric can't help noticing the disadvantages of living in a small town from time to time. The lack of anonymity is annoying enough, but if the bar/diner hybrid that the adults turn to as a last resort for getting drunk also serves as hangout for the kids, you really have a problem. He probably shouldn't spend so much time here, Alaric thinks as he enters the Mystic Grill. Then again, with everything that has happened lately, he's probably past caring. This town is pretty fucked-up anyway, and by that he doesn't necessarily mean its infestation with vampires. They are another problem entirely; the worst example is currently occupying one of the bar stools, Alaric registers without surprise.

Damon Salvatore. The guy – the monster – who hadn't murdered his wife in cold blood after all, but who'd fucked her and turned her into a vampire instead. Alaric doesn't even know which is worse. His whole world has been repeatedly turned upside down and by now he's not sure how he feels. All Alaric knows is that his anger and thirst for vengeance have vanished and left him with a strangely hollow feeling. He just can't wrap his mind around the idea that Isobel left him to willingly become a vampire. On some days he's so angry that he's certain he doesn't ever want to see her again, despite all of his unanswered questions. On other days he just wants to look at her face again, now that he knows she isn't dead. Most of the time Alaric feels kind of numb and jaded, but all in all it isn't such a terrible feeling, he thinks. That's why he thinks he's losing his mind. The fact that he actually teamed up with Damon to save his vampire brother the other day certainly supports this theory. On top of things, Damon's behavior has been almost chummy ever since. Chummy for a sociopathic killer, that is.

Sighing, Alaric makes his way across the room to sit down at the bar, as far away from Damon as possible. He's determined to ignore him, because he really doesn't want to deal with him tonight. Obviously the vampire isn't going to make things easy, though. Not even five minutes pass before Damon slides onto the stool next to Alaric's. Steeling himself for what's to come, Alaric downs the contents of his whiskey tumbler and winces. He can see the vampire smirking in the corner of his vision.

“Rough day?” Damon asks.

Alaric chooses to ignore the question, even though he doesn't think for a second he can get rid of Damon that easily. Of course, he's proven right a second later.

“Aw, don't be like that! I thought we were BFFs now! You're hurting my feelings,” Damon whines, mock-offended, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Let me make it all better.”

Damon orders a bottle of whiskey. He fills Alaric's glass first, then his own, placing the bottle between them when he finishes. Alaric rolls his eyes, but he doesn't object either. Screw it, he thinks and downs his drink. He's here to get drunk, after all.

 

They are almost through the whiskey bottle when Damon speaks up again. “I think I know where she is.”

Alaric freezes. He doesn't have to ask whom Damon is referring to. “You're lying,” he answers after a few moments. “ You always are.”

Damon pulls a face. “Not always! I'm getting the impression you don't like me, Ric!” At Alaric's glare the vampire sighs. “I'm serious. I did some digging, picked up her trail in Chicago. Simple as that,” he adds in a more serious tone. “If I'm right, and I think I am, she teaches at a college. Imagine that,“ Damon grins, “a vampire professor!”

Despite himself, and the high probability that this is another one of Damon's tricks, Alaric can't help reacting to the news. He can feel his heartbeat quicken, his hand tightening around his whiskey tumbler. The last sober and sensible part of his brain refuses to let him get his hopes up, but it's clearly fighting a lost cause. He isn't good at sanity these days.

“Why would you try to find Isobel?”

“Why, out of the sheer goodness of my heart!” Damon flashes him a bright grin. “And I thought Elena might want to meet her birth mother,” he quickly adds, sounding almost sincere to Alaric.

This actually makes a little sense, Alaric thinks. He has spent enough time with the Salvatore brothers and the girl to witness the disturbing threeway-dynamics between them (though he prefers not to dwell on this notion, thank you very much). The fact that Damon, cold-blooded killer or not, apparently has a really soft spot for Elena hasn't escaped his notice either.

But could it be true? Could Isobel really have been that easy to find? Of course Damon is not to be trusted, but what if it's true? Almost automatically Alaric gives himself a refill and sips on his whiskey.

It takes him a few minutes and two more glasses to notice Damon's expectant stare.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Alaric barks, his words a bit slurred.

Damon gives an exasperated sigh. “Well, genius, are we going to Chicago or what?”

 

This is a really bad idea, Alaric thinks, albeit a bit sluggishly. You really shouldn't set off to the airport on a whim like this, in the early hours of the morning, especially not in the company of a murderous vampire. It’s an even worse idea since they’re drunk – and driving a car. Alaric can only hope Damon's freakish vampire senses are superhuman even when intoxicated.

 

 

The airport in Charlottesville, VA appears to be a very lonely place on a very early morning such as this. They come across only a sad looking old lady and some cleaning staff members when they head through the hallway directly towards the departure section. To Alaric it feels as if an atmosphere of utter melancholy has spread over the whole place.

He follows Damon’s rushed pace through the airport halls, leaving a little distance between them, his gaze lingering on the vampire’s back. He wonders, not for the first time since they started their little trip, how he could have agreed to this insane plan to find Isobel in Chicago at all.

“We don’t have all day, you know. If you’re getting cold feet, buddy, you better say so now.” Alaric gets pulled out of his thoughts by Damon’s irritated voice, as he points to the security control, trying to get him to move over.

“Sirs, would you please take off your jackets and anything consisting of metal, then walk right through the metal detector,” the bored looking lady at the security check informs them in a monotonous voice.

When Damon only puts his leather jacket and a wallet into the provided box, Alaric lifts an eyebrow.

“Your ring, too, Sir! It would most definitely activate the alarm.”

Alaric sees Damon flinch slightly, then turn quickly, scanning the area.

For a moment he is afraid that the vampire is assuring there is no one around and will then simply snap the poor woman’s neck. He had proven to Alaric on many occasions that humanity hasn’t quite made it into his range of emotions. But when he looks over to the big front window on the opposite side of the hall, he realizes what the reason for Damon’s hesitation is.

Alaric never noticed it before, because to him it is so random and it wouldn’t matter one way or the other, but there is sunlight pouring into the room. The first bright rays of sunshine are illuminating the transit lounge in a slowly growing golden shimmer.

“Well?!” he hears Damon’s irritable voice, demanding that he steps forward. It causes Alaric to think that a little smoldering would do the pushy bastard’s attitude some good, but that indeed very entertaining thought gets interrupted by the officer holding out the box for him to drop in his own ring on top of Damon’s belongings.

“Thank you both. Please pass through the detector and pick up your things on the other side,” she requests.

Alaric feels so uncomfortable it isn’t even funny. So much for being bad-ass, he thinks. True, he has discovered the mysterious powers of his ring only a few days ago, but he feels he is already relying on it a lot. Especially in the presence of Damon, who had tried – and succeeded - in killing him before.

Looking over, he catches Damon rubbing the middle finger of his left hand, where his sunscreen ring is very prominently not sitting. He’s probably doing that subconsciously, Alaric muses because Damon and insecurity is something that just doesn’t blend. Still he can’t help feeling at least slightly better than before, seeing he’s not the only one feeling a little out of it, and strolls over to Damon’s side.

Finally, the little box comes bustling out of the scanner. Alaric can’t suppress the urge to hastily grab for his ring, only to find Damon’s surprisingly warm hand right next to his own.

Glancing up quickly, he catches Damon’s eye and a weird sense of hesitation flickers up inside of him.

He pulls his eyes away from Damon’s gaze more reluctantly than he would like to admit, but when his ring is back where it belongs, he’s able to take a step back. Clearing his throat, Alaric points over to the small convenience store near the security check.

“I need to grab a few things,” he announces and, not waiting for an answer, gladly puts distance between him and Damon. The murderer of my wife, he grimly reminds himself.

 

The plane, thankfully, is fairly empty. Only a couple of rows are occupied by people, which probably isn’t that uncommon for a flight from the rural areas of Virginia to Chicago at only 6 A.M.

Alaric is tired, he’s somewhat on edge and to make it all perfect, the first omens of a soon to be full blown hangover are lingering directly behind his eyes.

Once they are in the air, he lets his eyes fall closed, determined to at least rest a little.

After only a couple of minutes, he finds himself increasingly annoyed at a restless vampire on his left side. Damon is squirming in his seat, repeatedly bumping into Alaric’s shoulder, knee and ribs. He's plastering himself all over the place. It makes Alaric twitch.

“Seriously, could you keep still for a moment?!” he snaps.

On the verge of calling the vampire something inappropriate in a public place - something along the lines of, well, vampire - he catches an expression of extreme uneasiness on Damon’s face.

He doesn’t believe it. And feels immediately smug.

“Are you nervous? I mean, you can’t be exactly afraid of dying in a plane crash, right?!”

“It still wouldn’t be my idea of fun to find myself trapped underneath a pile of burning metal. Or underneath a pile of burning you, for that matter.” He hesitates for a moment and Alaric already wants to wave the subject off when Damon continues. “Besides, I don’t trust modern day technology that much, cell phones aside. Flying still seems a little... unnatural, don’t you think?”

Once again, Alaric finds himself wondering what kind of alcohol induced brain dysfunction had brought him here: sitting on a plane to Chicago, next to a vampire who is obviously afraid of flying, to find his murdered and now undead wife. It makes his head spin. “Talk about unnatural,” he scoffs.

On the other side of things, his behavior is probably understandable. Because really, how old is Damon Salvatore? 165 years? 166? The thought sparks some interest in Alaric, but before he can bring himself to ask further questions, the flight attendant, who had previously failed to entertain him during the security instructions, now enthusiastically asks him, if he wants something to drink.

“Coffee. Black, please.” He almost drops the cup of hot liquid he is handed when he hears Damon answering the same question.

“Tomato juice. Big cup.”

Alaric stares at him incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Damon just flashes a smile at him and winks.

 

 

It wasn't a really long flight, but Alaric still needs to give his legs a stretch. Plane seats aren't very comfortable at the best of times, but having a fidgety vampire in close proximity doesn't exactly improve things. He's more than happy to wait and take a few gulps of fresh air while Damon is off to rent a car for them. Or more likely, while he's off to compel some poor bastard to give him a car for free; Alaric would rather not know the details. As expected, his hangover is spectacular. A pounding headache accompanied by a queasy feeling in his stomach and, of course, a leaden tiredness. That's what you get for drinking until 4 A.M., drive to the airport and spend more than four hours on a plane.

Of course, with his feet back on solid ground, Damon is his unbearably smug self again. To add insult to injury, he also looks wide awake and not hung-over at all. It's disgusting, Alaric thinks.

“Ric, my friend!” Damon gives him a clap on the shoulder as they're about to get in the car. “You don't look so hot.” Alaric only growls in response, which seems to amuse the vampire even more. “No seriously, you're a bit pale.” Damon adds, leaning closer to get a better look at him. When Alaric limply pushes him away, he sighs. “Fine. You're useless right now, so we might as well get some rest before we set off again.” Alaric can't really argue with that.

 

Damon steers the car towards the first motel that comes along. When they ask the middle-aged receptionist for a room, Damon is all charm and smiles and the lady is clearly smitten. Alaric doesn't really listen to what he thinks to be the exchange of pleasantries. He's so tired now that he keeps zoning out. When the lady gives them a secretive smile and even winks at Alaric, he just frowns. Usually he's quick on the uptake, but right now Alaric's sleep-deprived mind really doesn't know what to make of it. Noticing his puzzlement, Damon snorts softly and moves a little further into his personal space. Alaric only understands what's going on when the receptionist is done checking her books.

“Oh, you're very lucky! There's only one room left!” she exclaims. “And it's even the one with the king-size bed,” she adds with a knowing smile.

Alaric blinks, then glares at the vampire next to him. Clearly he should have paid attention to what the undead fucker told the receptionist.

Damon seems to be enjoying himself, though. “Just what we need,” he all but purrs, leaning over to Alaric and almost nuzzling his cheek. For a moment, Alaric forgets how to breathe.

 

Alaric really shouldn't be affected by this kind of crap but, to his own horror, he can't help but find Damon's behavior... disconcerting. Which is a huge euphemism, considering he'd gotten a hard-on because of the little scene at the reception that lasted until he was able to take care of it in the shower a few minutes ago. Just thinking of it makes him blush; he can see it in the bathroom mirror.

It's ridiculous, Alaric thinks. He's not some awkward teenager. He shouldn't be thrown off balance by a little bit of sexual innuendo, especially not by Damon. He probably hasn't exactly been completely immune to Damon's charm before – that's the only explanation for the fact that Alaric wants to punch the vampire more often than not, but doesn't really feel the urge to kill him anymore. Being turned-on by Damon is definitely new, though and the mere thought of it is horrifying. But it's just hormones, Alaric tells himself. He can deal with that. His poker face has proven to be exceptional and he won't give that bastard the satisfaction of reducing him to a stuttering idiot.

That's easier said than done, Alaric finds, when he steps out of the bathroom clad only in his boxers to save his already rumpled clothes from further damage. This shouldn't be a problem at all. But Damon is already lounging on one side of the bed staring at him with one eyebrow quirked and a vicious little smile on his lips. Alaric's surprisingly strong reaction to the little bit of teasing probably hasn't escaped his notice and now he's having too much fun to quit this little game.

Mortified, Alaric wonders what exactly Damon's vampire senses have been able to pick up. His stare makes Alaric feel weirdly self-conscious, which is new to him as he's usually quite comfortable in his own skin. It's infuriating and it takes all his self-control not to use the bundle of worn clothes in his hands in an obvious attempt to cover himself. Of course, Damon does everything he can to make things worse by leering at him and patting the mattress next to himself invitingly. Alaric can do this, he's good at keeping his cool. Straightening his shoulders, he wills himself to relax before crossing the room towards the bed, deliberately unhurried. With an annoyed expression he finally slips between the sheets. As he turns away from Damon, he can hear the vampire chuckle.

“Oh come on Ric, you could do a lot worse than me,” he says, laughter in his voice.

“Yeah,” Alaric grumbles. “But a lot better, too.”

 

 

When Alaric opens his eyes again, the motel room is filled with sunlight. It must be early afternoon, he thinks. When he turns around, he finds Damon lying next to him, his eyes closed. Alaric can't tell whether he's asleep or not. In fact, he doesn't even know if vampires need to sleep at all. He's pretty, Alaric thinks, still a little dazed with sleep, charming too, when he chooses to be - it's easy to see why the ladies seem to like him so much. Right now he looks peaceful, with his dark eyelashes resting against his cheeks. He looks innocent, human. Suddenly, the vampire's eyes open and lock with his and for whatever reason Alaric is unable to look away. He briefly wonders if this is what being compelled feels like, but since he's loaded with vervain there's no excuse for staring into Damon's eyes like that. And yet, Alaric feels his mouth go dry. For lack of better things to say, Alaric speaks out the first thing on his mind.

“Do you even remember what it was like to be human?”

For a split second, Damon looks a little taken aback, and then a slight frown appears on his features.

“Sure I do,” he sighs, rolling on his back, his eyes now facing the ceiling.

“So... have you always been like this?”

“Like what?” Damon snorts. “Handsome? Dashing?”

Alaric rolls his eyes. “Try self-serving or bloodthirsty.”

Almost a minute passes before the vampire speaks again. “Aside from my taste in blood-sucking women, I was actually a good boy once, believe it or not,” he grins. His expression turning somewhat wistful, Damon adds, “Not that my father ever thought so. I was a constant source of disappointment for him.”

He falls silent again, so Alaric can't help but ask, “Why is that?”

“I left the Confederacy on principle.” Damon's eyes are still on the ceiling. “My father had no respect for a deserter. But I was tired of killing. Can you imagine that?” He darts a quick smile in Alaric's direction.

At first Alaric doesn't know how to answer that. While the history geek in him rejoices at the opportunity to talk to a contemporary witness of the Civil War era, Damon's words have also made him think. He'd never really thought about Damon's background, especially his human life before. It was easier to see him as a cold-blooded killer and nothing else. Knowing more about the vampire gives him too much unwanted character depth – as if Alaric's world weren't already full of too many confusing shades of gray.

“You were tired of killing and yet you became a vampire. Why?”

Damon shrugs. “Because I wanted to be with Katherine,” he says, as if it were completely self-evident. Damon rolls over and props his head up on his elbow to look at Alaric, his expression almost soft. “I'm sure you understand that.”

Now it's Alaric's turn to stare at the ceiling. As much as he hates to admit it, even to himself, Damon is right. He really understands it – Alaric would love to say that he never would have agreed to become a vampire, but that would be a blatant lie.

If things had played out differently, if Isobel hadn't disappeared, if she'd asked him, Alaric would have done anything to be with her forever.

His thoughts must be written all over his face, because a sympathetic smile appears on Damon's face. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Love sucks.”

Alaric couldn't agree more.

 

 

Alaric’s spirits aren’t at their highest during their drive into the city. Granted, he isn’t as tired as before, but now his stomach keeps stubbornly informing him that eating would be a good decision sometime in the near future. He’s a little surprised when Damon pulls the car over directly in front of a diner, the happily glowing neon sign advertising Chicago’s Best Homemade Pie.

He turns and raises a questioning eyebrow at the vampire but Damon only looks at him sternly. “That,” he answers, pointing to Alaric’s growling stomach, “needs to stop.”  
His tone is harsh and slightly annoyed, as is typical for Damon Salvatore, but Alaric catches a hint of a smile in his eyes. Why he even realizes this or how he ended up categorizing Damon’s behavior as typical or normal is beyond him. So Alaric just shrugs and gets out of the car.

Alaric orders a slice of pie and the biggest cup of coffee the house offers. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come in gallons. He turns away from the counter and scans the room briefly for Damon, but since the vampire is nowhere to be seen he decides to settle in the most comfortable looking booth. Not that he would expect the diner’s red vinyl couches to be comfy, but right now, Alaric is quite content. His pie tastes delicious and as the hot, bitter coffee finally makes its way down his throat he relaxes back into his seat, enjoying a peaceful moment of solitude.

After the pie and coffee are gone, Alaric feels much more awake. It feels like coming back from the dead, he thinks and laughs at himself for the rather bad joke. “Where the hell is that bastard, anyway?” he mutters softly to himself.

He’s not worried about Damon, of course. Actually, he should be more worried about everyone else besides Damon in the diner, but now Alaric starts to wonder. Getting out of his booth, he proceeds to walk down the aisle of the diner, looking around for Damon. When he peeks around the corner and into the direction of the restrooms Alaric finds him.

The vampire is all smiles and charms, chatting up a girl and enjoying himself immensely. It’s a cute blonde with curly hair and a slender build. She's cute but almost certainly dumb, Alaric thinks. He can hear her giggle about something Damon says and the sound annoys him immediately.

When he sees Damon’s hand brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear, Alaric clenches his teeth. The sight sparks something inside of him he chooses to ignore at first, but when Damon laughs playfully and pulls the girl into the restroom, he snaps. He walks over briskly and bangs the door open.

Damon spins around quickly, ready to attack any intruder but relaxes immediately when he sees that it’s just Alaric, which makes him even more angry.

“What?!” Damon barks at him, “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?”

“Are you insane? I mean, I already know you are, but seriously? Last time I checked we were here because we’re trying to find Isobel, not for screwing random chicks in a diner’s bathroom,” he hisses. “No offense,” he adds in direction of the girl, but she doesn’t even react. “You can go fuck whoever you want, I don’t care, but not here and certainly not now. We don’t have time for this shit.” Alaric hates how his voice is shaking, but really, he is pissed. So much for thinking that Damon wasn’t the biggest asshole on the planet.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I need to eat something, too. So please, quit the jealousy act already. This has nothing to do with you, honey. Promise!” Damon flashes one of his brilliant smiles and Alaric can see that his vampire fangs are partly visible.

Still, he wants to punch Damon’s pretty face so badly that he’s tightening his hands into fists so hard, his fingernails leave marks. The fact that Damon is at least partly right about Alaric doesn’t make it any better. Before he can even think about any comeback, the vampire pulls him in close by the fabric of his collar. Damon’s breath is hot against Alaric’s neck, his voice husky and suggestive. “Unless you’re offering, that is.”

Alaric inhales deeply and the rich scent of Damon’s leather jacket and something else, something uniquely Damon is filling his entire senses. He swallows hard, very slowly tipping back his head. He lets his eyes fall closed; the sudden urge to bare his throat for Damon is almost too strong.

Alaric freezes and jerks back, pushing Damon away roughly when the realization of what he was about to do begins to dawn on him. Damon stares at him with slightly squinted eyes, and for a moment Alaric is afraid that he will ask him something.

“I didn’t think so,” Damon eventually says and turns his attention back to the girl.

Now, Alaric recognizes the trademark hollow gaze of her eyes which tells him that she is under compulsion and probably has been the whole time.

It makes Alaric feel stupid and sheepish that he didn’t catch it earlier, but giving Damon the satisfaction of seeing him in distress is not an option. Mentally squaring his shoulders, Alaric looks Damon straight in the eye. “Don’t you dare kill her. And make this quick. We need to get going.”

Of course, Damon rolls his eyes and smugly adds, “I’m the professional here, remember?”, but Alaric finds himself unannoyed for once. In fact, he is rather relieved that all the previous tension between them just seems to have vanished.

He makes his way out into the parking lot and slides behind the wheel of their rental. He doesn’t want to think about it, but the scene still keeps replaying in Alaric’s head over and over again. He knows exactly what he did back there, what he wanted Damon to do to him - if only for a second - and it scares him. It would be so much easier to believe that Damon was compelling him, but unfortunately he knows this isn’t the truth.

He briefly wonders if that was what Isobel must have felt like seconds before she...  
His train of thoughts get interrupted when Damon opens the front passenger door and settles into the seat with a delighted sigh.

“You ready to go?” he asks and Alaric simply starts the engine.

“As ready as I can be, I guess.”

 

Driving in a city as big as Chicago is beginning to take its toll on Alaric already. He hates metropolises like this. He isn’t used to driving on multi-lane roads; the honking and tailgating is driving him nuts, only adding to the nervousness he already feels. Anyone would panic in his situation, he thinks. After all, he is about to meet his dead... undead... vampire... whatever wife. Does being undead make Isobel his ex-wife automatically? Till death do us part would definitely apply in this case, he muses.

“Dude, watch out!” Damon exclaims sharply, grabbing Alaric’s arm and jerking him out of his thoughts. Alaric brakes hard, the tires of the car screeching as they come to a halt just before a red light. “I don’t enjoy car crashes any more than I would a plane crash, you know,” Damon sighs, sounding somewhat weary but not really mad.

“I just hate driving in cities like this. And... I’m nervous.” Alaric doesn’t even know why he admits this, but he is beyond caring and Damon can probably hear his heart beating at a rather unhealthy rate anyway.

“I figured. I’ll drive next time. Anyway, over there? Turn left. We’re here.”

As they walk up to the campus, which is crowded with busy students and teachers, Alaric takes a look around. It’s nice here; he can see why Isobel would like it here. The college is much bigger than he expected it to be, several wooden staircases leading up to further stories from the entrance hall. Damon appears to be impressed as well because he’s whistling when they proceed in direction of the Department of Psychology.

“Now this is what I call style! Back in the day people knew how to design and construct proper buildings,” the vampire tells him and Alaric can’t help but smile at Damon’s enthusiasm.

“I expected you to be a lot of things. But a geek for architecture? Not one of them,” he teases, but Damon just waves him off.

“Oh come on. The modern stuff is mostly crap. And I’m not the only one yearning for the good old days here, Ric.”

The comment stings a little and Alaric’s nervousness returns like a sudden cold blow to his stomach. It must have shown on his face though, because Damon leaves it at that, only nodding in direction of one of the staircases.

“Whatever. Let’s go find that room,” he says.

They climb the stairs and start checking the signs on every door there is, but after a short while, they have to accept that there are simply too many.

“Let’s just go to the Head of Dean’s secretary and ask where we can find her. Otherwise we might as well spend the whole day looking for a name we’re not even sure is correct,” Alaric finally says.

Damon looks thoughtful for a moment but eventually he just shrugs and agrees. “You’re the university expert here. Go ahead.”

Alaric asks his way to the office, where they finally manage to get a concrete answer.

“Room 306, third floor. The current lesson should be over in a couple of minutes. If you hurry, you might still catch her,” the secretary tells them. She flushes a bright crimson when Damon winks at her with a suggestive smile as they thank her, but Alaric doesn’t pay any attention to it. He just blindly follows Damon up to the lecture room behind which’s doors Isobel is supposed to be teaching a class about Parapsychological Phenomena and Supernatural Myth.

Alaric can’t quite wrap his head around the thought of seeing his dead wife again after two years of believing she was dead and it feels as if he’s about to walk into an exam he is not even remotely prepared for. A hollow feeling unfurls itself in his gut, his ears are ringing and his mind goes blank.

He catches Damon looking at him with a skeptical expression, as if he was afraid that Alaric might faint. Maybe he’s right.

Suddenly the door flies open and a group of students, excitedly chatting amongst themselves, pours out of the seminar room. Catching up with reality, Alaric snaps out of his daze and steps aside, waiting for the room to empty out. He inhales deeply and mentally steels himself for what’s to come.

When he can finally bring himself to step into the room, he sees her. A woman wiping chalk off the board turns to face him and Damon, who is suddenly back at his side.

“You’re not Isobel,” Alaric blurts and is met by a confused gaze.

“Excuse me?” the red headed teacher asks.

“Isobel,” he repeats, staring at her as if it was the most logical and obvious thing in the world to say.

“What he means is that we wanted to talk to Isobel Flemming. She is supposed to teach this class, but we were obviously given wrong information here?” Damon butts in, his voice cold and his tone is weirdly composed, as if he is struggling to keep his emotions in control. Alaric briefly wonders why.

Surely the stupid secretary just gave them incorrect details and they would find Isobel across the hall. But the next words he hears shatter all his hopes and the previous nervousness evaporates only to be replaced with utter disappointment.

“There was another teacher here, that’s right. I don’t know if her name is Isobel, but she recently left. Actually, she left overnight without leaving any instructions or lesson plans so I was appointed to attend to this class for the rest of the term. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

 

Alaric suddenly finds himself in front of their rented car. He can’t really remember walking back to the parking lot. His head is empty and he doesn’t know what to think. They can’t even be sure that the woman who was a teacher here really had been Isobel. He knew that this would happen and he had been damn sure that this little road trip, with Damon of all people, had been a no good, very bad idea from the start. But still, he had been hoping to see Isobel again ever since he learned she wasn’t truly dead. His hopes have now been crushed, however. He feels tired and devastated and just wants to forget this whole mess.

Damon drives the car off the college campus and for once he doesn’t try to start a conversation. His jaw is set and Alaric can physically sense the tension and disappointment coming off of the vampire in waves. He doesn’t ask why; he isn’t in the mood for a friendly heart to heart anyway. When Damon parks the car in front of a bar after a short drive, Alaric doesn’t have any complaints.

 

 

Alaric lets himself slump onto one of the bar stools, placing his arms on the counter of the rather shabby bar. Once again, Damon orders them a bottle of whiskey and two glasses and promptly downs a glass in one swallow as soon as the bartender hands it over. Normally Alaric would envy the vampire for his alcohol tolerance but right now, he can’t wait to get wasted. It seems to have become a habit these days and he shouldn’t drink this much. But to be honest, anything that makes him forget about this trip, Isobel and their fucked up plan to find her in the first place suits him just fine, any later headache be damned.

He pours himself some more whiskey and asks the barkeeper for a little more ice. Alaric feels as if he’s burning up from the inside; he’s queasy and not sure if he wants to deal with talking to Damon or not. Shooting a sideways glance at the vampire doesn’t help much, as Damon appears to be quite occupied with staring into his glass gloomily, obviously not eager to have a conversation at all. Alaric opens his mouth a couple of times, contemplating to speak, but he decides to stay quiet in the end.

They drink in silence, constantly refilling their tumblers until the bottle is almost gone. There are only some watery remnants left in Alaric’s glass, barely resembling the whiskey it held before.

“I really thought we would find her here”, he finally admits, “but whatever.”

Damon looks at him for a moment and just nods.

When a minute later Alaric gets up to pay the bathroom a quick visit, Damon turns on his bar stool and grabs his sleeve, holding him back.

“Where are you going?” he asks to Alaric’s astonishment.

“Erm, the bathroom?” he answers, letting his gaze wander between Damon’s eyes and his hand, which is still resting on his forearm.

“Oh. Sure. Thought you might be... um, leaving,” Damon slurs and Alaric notices that his eyes are somewhat unfocused. So much for the high alcohol tolerance, he thinks, only a little spiteful.

“Where would I go?” he scoffs and makes his way over to the men’s room.

Walking, though only across the room, makes Alaric realize how very tipsy he is. Actually, he’s pretty plastered - which doesn’t come as a surprise, considering he drank half a bottle of whiskey already. He decides to go outside to get some fresh air, hoping that might help clear his head a little.

When Damon joins him after a couple of minutes, they agree to make their way back to the motel, which is only a few blocks away. They leave, abandoning their rental car in the parking lot, because neither of them should be driving in their current state of inebriation.

While staggering through the dark Chicago streets, their motel thankfully in sight now, Alaric can see Damon walking with his shoulders slumped, wearing a doleful expression on his handsome features and looking only this short of miserable. Maybe the oxygen is finally getting through to his brain, but it suddenly makes Alaric wonder why exactly the vampire is so utterly crestfallen about not finding Isobel.

“Katherine,” Damon says.

“What?” Alaric hadn’t even realized he'd asked the question out loud, but obviously he had. Still, Damon’s answer doesn’t even make any sense. Until he repeats it, that is, clarifying what he means.

“Katherine. I was hoping that with Isobel’s help, I might be able to finally find Katherine.”

 

It takes a moment for this statement to sink in. Damon was trying to find Katherine all along, she's the reason they went on this ridiculous trip in the first place. Alaric isn't really surprised, he's not an idiot. Of course Damon has had his own agenda, that's just Damon for you. Yet, Alaric feels the cold clench in his stomach, anger burn in his throat. These past twenty-four hours have been nothing but a fucking emotional roller coaster for him and he's got Damon to thank for that. His conflicting feelings for Isobel, then getting his hopes up despite himself only to have them crushed again, and the unnerving situation with Damon as the cherry on top - it's all just too much right now. Alaric can only stare at Damon, his breathing heavily.

The vampire doesn't look contrite by a long shot, but for once he isn't smug either.

“Come on--” Damon begins, touching Alaric's arm.

That's where Alaric snaps. Suddenly there's anger boiling inside him and he doesn't care that Damon is much stronger and could hurt him in many unpleasant ways. Swinging at Damon makes him stagger a little, thanks to the bourbon, but his fist still hits its mark and connects with the vampire's jaw. Alaric fully expects Damon to lunge at him, so he prepares himself for being thrown backwards. But nothing of the sort happens. Damon just straightens himself, rubs his jaw and huffs a little laugh.

“Alright, I deserved that.”

The fact that Damon isn't fighting back only serves to infuriate Alaric even more. He grabs the vampire by the lapels of his leather jacket and pushes him against the motel wall with all the force he can muster. Damon's head connects with the concrete hard enough to cause a concussion for an ordinary human being, but of course it can't hurt a vampire. Yet, the sound of the impact distracts Alaric from his sudden rage. He freezes and finds himself standing way too close to Damon, hands still gripping the smaller man's jacket. Alaric swallows. He should just back off, in the back of his mind he's aware of that, but instead he's yet again transfixed by Damon's eyes, his heart racing. Damon just holds his gaze, regards him with a questioning look, a smile quirking his lips. Alaric is sure it's only seconds, but now he knows what people mean when they say a moment stretches into eternity. The tension becomes too much and he leans in.

The first touch of their lips is electrifying, sending an immediate jolt to his groin. Damon doesn't hesitate for a second. There isn't anything gentle about this kiss. In fact, it's almost bruising and definitely lacks finesse, but it's still the best damn thing Alaric has experienced in a long while. Suddenly, Damon grabs him by his hips and pulls him flush against his body. Standing this close, Alaric can feel Damon's erection through the denim of their jeans. The shock of the sensation is enough to break the moment and Alaric's eyes snap open as he realizes what he's doing. This is a bad idea. This is a really, really bad idea. He knows he's drunk and he will regret it in the morning, but he must have completely lost his marbles now, because he can't force himself to care now. Reluctantly, Alaric lets go of Damon and tries to take a step backwards, but Damon takes hold of his hips again.

“Oh no no no, not gonna happen!” Damon pants. “You can punch me all you want, but if you bail on me now, I will kill you.”

In the back of his head Alaric can't help wondering if the breathing thing is like an old habit vampires can't shake, but then he gets distracted by Damon's face. He looks positively debauched, with his flushed cheeks and that look in his eyes and Alaric can feel his – admittedly very weak - resistance crumbling. Apparently Damon can sense it too, because a wicked smile appears on his features.

“Atta boy,” he purrs as he slides one hand in Alaric's short hair to pull him down for a searing kiss that makes Alaric's mind ultimately grind to a halt. He decides that reason is overrated and crowds Damon further against the wall, pushing one of his thighs between the vampire's legs. This earns him a delicious little sound from Damon, something between a laugh and a moan. “That's more like it,” he murmurs, once again bringing their mouths together. More than a century of experience apparently pays off, because Damon does obscene things with his tongue that have Alaric rocking a little against the other man's hip for friction.

If things keep progressing like this, Alaric doesn't think he can last. He can't even remember the last time he was so close to coming in his pants just from making out with someone, fully clothed at that. It gets even worse - or better, Alaric doesn't really know - when he feels Damon's hot mouth on the sensitive skin of his neck. Even though his blood is laced with vervain, the thrill of letting a vampire anywhere near his main artery still makes his breath catch. Not willing to wait any longer, he skims the waistband of Damon's jeans with his fingers and starts fumbling with the buttons.

Damon suddenly breaks the contact and stares at him; he looks pretty well-fucked already, complete with tousled hair and now half-unbuttoned jeans. Alaric realizes with a stupid sense of satisfaction that Damon is pretty turned on himself.

“Well,” the vampire laughs, “I think it's time to take the party inside.”

 

 

A headache is the first thing Alaric registers when he wakes up the next day. There's a foul taste in his mouth, as if something furry has crawled inside of him and died during the night. He should lay off the booze for a while; he's really getting too old for this shit. Alaric cracks his eyes open and feels disoriented for a moment – until he spots Damon sitting on the opposite edge of the bed, only clad in jeans, his naked back turned towards him.

Oh, Alaric thinks, as the last night's events come rushing back to him. Oh crap. The memories are a bit fuzzy around the edges, but clear enough to make his stomach churn. It's your average embarrassment after a booze induced one-night stand – only multiplied by a thousand and with a lot of guilt, anger and a few more complicated emotions thrown in the mix.

Alaric hasn't dared to move yet, but feigning sleep or – even better – playing dead probably won't do him any good. He will have to face Damon eventually. Slowly and carefully, Alaric props himself up to a half-sitting position, the pounding inside his head increasing with every movement. The whole situation is just too bizarre to be true. He’s just spent the night with a vampire – the very same vampire that screwed his wife and turned her into a vampire as well. It’s almost funny. He could compare notes with Isobel. With a groan he squeezes his eyes shut and covers them with his forearm.

“Wow,” he hears Damon say, “you look... ah, no need for sugar-coating. You look like crap!”

Alaric exhales and opens his eyes again to look at the vampire. “Thanks,” he retorts with a sarcastic smile, for once kind of grateful for Damon's snide remarks, as they make him feel like he is on more familiar ground.

“Anytime,” Damon drawls and gets up from the bed, pulling on a shirt as he goes.

His hair is still wet from the shower he must have taken while Alaric was still passed out. Of course, he looks a picture of health, which is just wrong in Alaric's opinion, considering the fact that Damon is, well, undead. Damon also looks pretty tempting with his shirt only half-buttoned – but that's a train of thought Alaric can't afford to follow right now.

“I'll be right back,” Damon announces and is out of the door before Alaric can ask what he's up to. He doesn't really care though, he's too relieved to be alone. He just wants to take a shower and get rid of the traces of last night as soon as possible. It might be just his imagination, but he swears he can still smell Damon on his skin.

 

When the hot water starts pouring over his body, Alaric lets out a pleasurable groan. His muscles are tense and sore, as they often are when he's really hung-over and sleep-deprived, but there are also a couple of bruises blooming on his body. The ones on his hips and upper arms will probably look quite spectacular in a few days – and they're most definitely finger-shaped. Seeing them, feeling them, he can't help flashing back to the previous night.

Damon's hands gripping on his hips, holding him in place, the feel of the vampire's firm muscles and surprisingly smooth skin underneath his fingertips... Alaric's heartbeat quickens as he remembers Damon's slick tongue on his body, the look in his eyes before he dropped down on his knees...

With a gasp, Alaric jerks himself back to the present. He doesn't even know whether he's feeling guilty or turned on right now – either way he's screwed. With grim determination, he turns on the cold water.

 

By the time Alaric leaves the bathroom Damon has already returned. He's probably been sucking some poor random girl's blood for breakfast, Alaric supposes. But he's also holding a paper cup in his hand and there's a distinct smell of coffee in the air.

“There you are! And looking less like a zombie too!” Damon exclaims cheerfully. “Now drink up,” he adds with a nod towards the small table in the corner of the room. “I want to get out of here.”

Following Damon's gesture with his eyes, Alaric is surprised to find another cup of coffee waiting for him.

 

 

The flight back to Virginia is uneventful and if Alaric didn't know any better he would say Damon is trying to be nice. He cracks a joke here and there but, aside from throwing him a few sideways glances, Damon leaves him to his own thoughts. He doesn't even fidget a lot in his seat this time around. Whatever the reason for it, Alaric is glad the dreaded hours on the plane go by quite smoothly. That is, if he ignores the flutter of guilt, anger and something else entirely that he feels whenever he meets Damon's eye. He prefers not to chit-chat and cuts his responses to Damon's few attempts at conversation short.

They're already in the car on their way from the airport back to Mystic Falls when Damon seems to lose his patience.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he cracks after a particularly long stretch of silence, glancing from the road over to Alaric for a moment.

When Alaric's only response is a non-committal grunt, Damon sighs. “Seriously, Ric. You're extra-broody today and as much as I like the sound of my own voice, one-sided conversations get old after a while.” He says this with the usual sarcastic edge to his voice, but there's something in his expression that makes Alaric cave in.

“This is just fucked-up,” he says, rubbing a weary hand over his face. “Going on this stupid trip in the first place, with you of all people... and thinking that you and me... well...” He gestures vaguely, feeling his cheeks color. Wow, Alaric thinks with an inward groan. That was smooth.

Damon seems to agree. “Look at you, going all blushing virgin on me,” he smirks, raising a suggestive eyebrow. “That's adorable. You weren't that shy last night, as I recall.”

Alaric wants to whack him over the head for that, but he contents himself with just glaring at the vampire. Noticing Alaric's expression, Damon rolls his eyes and smiles a little, his eyes on the road again.

“You think too much. It is what it is, man. Don't mess yourself up about it,” he says, his tone calm and devoid of sarcasm for once. “You've got to admit, we're a good team.”

“Yeah,” Alaric huffs a little laugh, turning his gaze out the side window again, “that's exactly what worries me.”

 

 

Back in Mystic Falls Alaric does everything to put a distance between him and the craziness of their trip to Chicago. He acts like a role-model teacher for once and spends his days grading papers and preparing lessons, without any detours to the Grill – and especially without any vampire encounters (aside from seeing Stefan at school). It's the right thing to do, Alaric thinks. He needs to get his life back on track, he knows it – and yet, he can't help thinking about Isobel and how close they were to finding her. How close they thought they were to finding her. He can't just give up. Alaric's thoughts frequently wander to Damon, too – and not just because of their little interlude at the motel. As insane as it is and as much as it pains Alaric to admit it, they have a lot of things in common. Alaric wouldn't go as far as calling them kindred spirits, but it feels good to know that someone actually gets him – even if it's the person who turned his life upside down in the first place.

That's probably the reason why it doesn't take too long until Alaric finds himself at the Mystic Grill again. Walking through the door, he spots Damon sitting at the bar just as usual. Alaric can feel the flutter of some undisclosed feeling in his stomach as he walks over and slides onto the bar stool next to Damon's. The vampire turns his head towards him and Alaric could swear his face lights up just a little before the trademark sneer appears on Damon's features.

“Haven't seen you in a while. I almost thought you were trying to become teacher of the month.”

“Yeah, well,” Alaric smirks, “I told you grading papers was more fun with a buzz.”

Damon snorts softly in response and lifts his bourbon glass. “Cheers to that!”

Alaric can't help smiling a little to himself. This whole thing might be a very bad idea, but Damon is right:

They aren't a bad team at all – and maybe that's good enough for now.

 

THE END


End file.
